A Brighter Future
by Allie773
Summary: John, Sam, and Dean have settled down in an abandoned house for the time being. No case in sight, so they're trudging along with the default case which is finding the thing that killed Mary. But what will happen when a mysterious figure sneaks in during the night and gives them some unsettling news? !YoungDean !EvenYoungerSam !Pre-Stanford !TimeTravel
1. Unnecessary Pleasantries

Well well well, I'm back. After getting so many good reviews on my first story, I figured I might as well publish another one. I had created a list of ideas I had for more Supernatural Shorts, but this one has been growing inside my brain for almost as long as _The Cage._ I've just now decided to start writing it to the public. This is the only chapter I have written so far, but don't worry, I'm planning for more. I've imagined it being a Medium length story, but may go on as a Long one if you all like it that much. **Please let me know what you think about this first chapter, and if I should continue on.** It's my pleasure to say yet again, Happy Reading! :)

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**Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or any of the characters. The only things I own are the errors. ;)**

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How long do people sleep?

Well, more specifically, how long do Winchesters sleep? Far too many years have gone by for him to remember such trivial facts, but he believed it wouldn't have been this long. At least one of the three Winchesters would surely get plagued with nightmares and decide to rise out of bed within the hour.

Looking across the room to the dirty clock hanging on the wall, he read the hands to be 5:23, meaning his statuesque form had been waiting for over 3 hours.

He readjusted his black overcoat so that the flaps overlapped slightly, concealing his black undershirt. He tilted his head slightly so that it was straight forward, staring at the staircase of this weather-worn, abandoned, two-story house the three unconscious occupants had managed to settle down in for the past month.

Most of the furniture was barely functional, all reeked into their very being the smell of old rainwater and dust that only objects with "experience" could acquire, if he was putting it lightly. The moth-ridden couch he chose to sit on was up against the far wall, to the right of the front door if one was entering the structure. A small recliner with the same faded mustard color as the couch sat diagonally to the right of the couch, and beyond that a small, round table with three wooden chairs surrounding it.

An empty bowl with what he assumed to be sauce traced the insides, so this ancient tabletop appeared to be the house's dining table. A few counters with the same grey wood as the dining table and chair lined the wall beyond it, adjacent to a fridge and a kitchen sink that made more noise than a banshee as it tried to swallow down the remnants of whatever food was washed down previously.

A pair of beaten blinds that inhabited mysterious brown stains on them hung in front of a couple of windows that had been placed directly across from the front door. One lamp sat on an end table by the recliner, the old 40 watt bulb blinking every few minutes like a person who begins to dose off but snaps up and awake right before they face plant into deep sleep.

With the light being so dim, the room is poorly lit and creates a dark night shadow over the entire couch he's sitting in. His feet, taking home in a pair of black combat boots laced up beyond the overhang of the black jeans he wears, are the only part of him the human eye could begin to see, the rest hiding in the shadows.

Anyone else would have gone mad at this point, simply risen from their perch and waltzed into one of the bedrooms to awaken the hunters so that they could retreat to somewhere else and carry on with their business. But this is was his job, his duty, and after going so long by rushing things, he found it what he imagined was comfort in the sleeping house.

He would not make the first move. He would not take control. He would simply be. And then he simply wouldn't.

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Before long, he heard the rustling of bed sheets and the sound of feet falling rather hard on the wood floor paneling above.

_One of the sons then,_ he thought to himself.

John had taken the bedroom next to the kitchen, leaving the two bed bedroom upstairs to Dean and Sam. His eyes darted across the ceiling, mapping out the boy's destination until the sound became clearer, meaning his steps were now on the same floor he was on.

After climbing down the stairs the boy stood for a moment, stretching his arms above his head and then letting them fall limply at his sides. His right hand scratched the skin peeking just above his sweat pants, showing because his shirt had rolled up sometime during the night as he tossed and turned during sleep. A yawn escaped the mouth, and then the footsteps continued until they noticed the unknown feet protruding from the darkness.

A shout escaped the mouth that had up until then looked calm, peaceful, but now looked grim and preparing to shout out more words to the man on the couch. The mouth asked him who he was as he moved across the kitchen to grab a knife from the drawer, and he noticed that during that entire process the boy made sure to never stray his eyes or turn his back to the figure.

The sharp words had apparently pierced through sleep of the other two, the second boy taking the steps two at a time and the father bursting out of his room with a gun filled undoubtedly with rock salt. The father stepped in front of his two boys like a mother bear protecting her cubs, although the first to wake and discover his presence was looking beyond his shoulder.

Now was the time for unnecessary pleasantries he assumed, as he brushed his hands together like one who had accumulated some sort of dust or dirt on them that friction could remove. He cleared his throat; it had been some time since he had to use his voice and he would rather not have it sound weak from under-usage when a simple cough could restore its booming natural vibrato.

He now stood, his back immediately missing the reassurance the couch back provided. The light now showed him from the breast down, still concealing his face.

The one in sweat pants asked him again who he was, slight undertones of worry and agitation in his voice.

He took two steps out from the shadows, revealing his face to the three Winchesters.

"Don't you recognize me, Dean?" he asked, but the three still held their faces with confusion, still tense from lacking understanding.

_I suppose the age difference is rather great, but I thought they would at least notice some similarities. _

John barked at him, "Who are you and where did you come from?"

He nodded his head forward slightly, his eyes passing over the three sets of two that were concentrated solely upon him.

Answering with his newly refreshed voice, he flatly stated: "My name is Sam Winchester, and I'm from the year 2018."

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I hope you all enjoyed reading this! **Be sure to leave a Review telling me what you thought about this first chapter, a Follow, and a Favorite if you like where the story is going so far. **Don't hold back, I love the feedback. It may be what makes or breaks the start off to this story. ;)


	2. Long Past Innocence Now

**Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or any of the characters. The only things I own are the errors. ;)**

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Near the end, Sam remembered, things got pretty hairy. His mind flashed to the image of his shaking right arm as the veins brightly shined white light so pure that it blinded them. He remembers the distant wail from power that was lost, and his own cry from power that was gained.

Sam shook the memories from his mind, he couldn't think about that right now. But he did recall, shortly after Dean died and went to Hell for trading his soul for Sam's, he had told himself time and time again that in order to be a solo hunter, he had to shape into one. Inside and out. He didn't have Big Brother Dean around to save his ass anymore, so his body needed to pick up the slack and grow out of being a living twig.

That caused him to start hitting the gym a lot more, hitting people a lot more. Hitting them or hitting _on_ them, which one he wasn't sure. It had all happened a long time ago. Maybe both.

So it wasn't that much of a surprise to see John and Dean constantly jerking their eyes back and forth from their young, boney, lanky, awkward teenage Sammy to an older, wiser, stronger Sam with rock hard muscles that even the thick black overcoat couldn't completely conceal.

Upon hearing the news, all three Winchester's eyes widened and their eyebrows shot to nearly their hairline, but the older two had begun comparing facial structures to see if he really was their future son/brother. Sammy hadn't moved a muscle though, the poor kid looking like a deer caught in some headlights.

The short, fluffy brown hair one big tangle on his still slightly round face staring back at the similar but slender face of his own, longer facial features and thin, dark hair so long it was mostly tucked behind his ears save for a few pieces that hung loosely to the side of his face. Sam was much taller than Sammy; apparently this one hadn't hit his growth spurt quite yet.

Dean tries to start something, but he gets tangled up in his own thoughts to even process a coherent word, so John starts the questioning.

"How?" The question doesn't shock him in the slightest, having gone over this so many times before. So, he decides to yank their chain a little bit.

"How what?" All three stare at him as if he just asked the dumbest question known to man, which, actually, it kind of was. Sam's face has been deadpan the entire time, a stark contrast to the others in the room, but he's quietly laughing on the inside.

"How are you here? How is… a monster? Did a monster send you here? Was it a spell? Time travel?" John's somewhat confusing line of questioning stumbles out of him like an alcoholic on a Friday night, and he thinks about not even answering the question, but does anyways.

"No, a monster did not send me here. No, it was not a spell. Yes, time travel is real. I thought that was somewhat obvious, considering I'm right here as proof."

"Then _how?_" Dean asks, persistence in full bloom and curiosity swirling in the air more than ever.

"Patience, young grasshopper" is what he ends up saying as he steps closer to the three as he knows he would've had to do later on anyways. They don't step back, but they all lean their bodies away from him more than before, and he keeps note that the knife and shotgun still haven't been lowered.

"And would you _please_ get those out of my face? It's edging on my nerves."

"Why should we believe you? You could be a shape shifter for all we know. Using Sammy's body and making it look older."

Now he does roll his eyes at that, switching his gaze from John to Dean, responding to his question as well. "I don't care either way, believe me or don't believe me. If you tested me with your iron knife and Holy Water I'd pass the both of them, but I don't feel like getting doused or cut at the moment, so I guess you'll just have to take my word for it."

"What, and just flat out trust you?" Dean spits back, eyes slitting like he's already decided in his mind that he's not really who he says he is. His choice of words barks a laugh out of Sam, and the unsuspecting noise startles the three of them. His voice still slightly higher than normal from the laughter and he comes down from it saying "No. I don't even trust me. Just, _indulge_ me for the time being. I'll be sure not to make any sudden movements if you'd like, but I won't be here for long and am only staying to pass along some info you might want to hear."

"I still don't understand how…" Sammy chimes in, his voice barely above a whisper, still not taking his eyes off of Sam. The pure innocence in his eyes strikes Sam to his core, thinking that he couldn't feign that look even if he was the best actor on the planet. He's long past innocence now, guilt ridden to the bone.

"Fine, I'll explain. You're lucky I'm in a generous mood, otherwise I wouldn't bother. I'm only going to say this once, so listen up and listen well." All three stare at him with undivided attention, so he makes that his cue to continue. "I'm… not really human."

At that the shotgun and knife are raised higher than before.

"**Stop,**" he booms at them, not a question or a statement even, but a _command_. They relent and drop their weapons again as he continues.

"Everyone thinks of time, the universe, life, as one big, thick line that extends from infinity to infinity. But they are wrong.

Now, I said I wasn't really human. That is correct. I may look like one, talk like one, feel like one, but I do not require the things humans do. In order to… travel through time, one can't have the need to use the restroom as often as a human does. Or the need to eat, sleep, whatever. All of it. I would never get anything accomplished if I had to worry about those pesky duties. Now, I used to be human. I did."

He looks over at Sammy, checks to make sure he isn't on the brink of a mental breakdown, and goes on.

"I came from, and lived as a human, in the Original Timeline as I like to call it. That's the one big, thick line of time everyone thinks they're in. The Original Timeline is where all of the real things go down. Everyone's destiny, fate, whatever you want to call it plays out in. Now, I was a human for awhile, but then some things went down and… I became this."

He motions his hands openly towards his chest in an up-down motion to show what "this" he was referring to.

"I became the thing that doesn't need to use the restroom, eat, age or sleep. And because of those bad things that went down, it made it really difficult to go on as the new thing I became. And the only way I could see to fix it was to go back and find a way. To prevent the bad thing from happening. You guys still with me?" he asks.

The three of them slowly nod their heads in agreement, so he moves slightly back and forth to relieve some of the tension in his legs since he's been standing this whole time.

"Now, it would be rather idiotic to go back into my own timeline and change something, because that change could alter me, making me not able to travel back in time to fix the bad thing and blowing the opportunity in one go. Right? Right. So then the creation of the other timelines came into effect. Since I was the first, and last, of my kind, a Timeline Hopper is the closest thing I've come up with as a label so far, there weren't any need for multiple timelines. But now that something had the ability to do so, the things required to do so automatically become so."

The three of them looked very confused; he studied, so he tried to explain another way. "Say that someone had the ability to jump. Now, if someone can jump, that automatically makes there a place for the person to jump _to._ It's the same principles, just on a wider scale. So if I had to ability to move from timeline to timeline, more than one had to instantly be created. So now, millions upon millions of timelines, exactly the same and flowing through time at the same speed, are out there. This is one of them. They are all exact replicas of the Original Timeline, but I have the ability to hop into one and change a detail to see if the outcome is what I want.

It's like one big science experiment; the controls are the timelines and I, and I swoop in and alter a variable to see the results. Any number of possibilities for what variable I change and what outcome I get are possible, there's so much time to go through that it makes the choices nearly endless. That's what I do. Ever since I was turned into this Timeline Hopper, I've been going from timeline to timeline trying to find the thing that makes the future not end the way it did for me.

And me being here means that yes, I haven't found out what it is I need to change yet."

There's a long moment of silence, so long that Sam thinks they all believe he's crazy, which he very well may be, but John speaks up.

"And what happened to them? What happens to the timelines that you change but don't work the way you want them to?"

"They get erased. There's no need for them anymore, I know how they all end. Cease to exist, you could say. More are made afterwards, more variables for me to try."

"So let me get this straight… you're the future me when all goes to Hell, and you've, what, put the Original Timeline on pause so you can go play _Frogger_ to all of these timelines so that you can find the thing that will change your future so that it doesn't end shitty?"

"Pretty much. I didn't put it on pause though, time is just flowing a lot slower there, so that when I do find the solution it won't be too late."

Dean's quick on the ball to recognize Sam's choice of words and says "Too late? How long you been doin' this?"

Sam lets out a soul-bearing sigh that stretches out for longer than anyone else is comfortable with and replies, "Too long."

"Wait, where am I? And how did you get the power to become this, Timeline Hopper or whatever the fuck? And what's up with the scar, while you're at it?" The questions flow out of Dean like the tap on a faucet someone forgot to shut off, and the amount of them make Sam actually a little uncomfortable.

He can feel everyone's eyes on said scar, can almost feel it burning through to his very soul. He thought he didn't have one for awhile, and at one point he didn't, but he got it back, so he knows he does in fact have one. Just not a very good one at this point.

The scar he's talking about is one that stretches from the skin just above his left eyebrow and crosses down and over the bridge of his nose, across his right cheek and down his right jaw as it swirls around the back of his neck over to the left side where it then goes to the center of his collar bone, right down the middle of his chest cavity until it hits the top part of the O his bellybutton forms.

With his overcoat and undershirt on, though, they can only see the beginning of it as it slashes across his face. He acquired it in a rather horrible session with Lucifer back in the days when he was just a tortured soul in his and the Devil's cage, a sharp knife set on fire right before it was plunged into his skin, leaving behind not just a regular scar but one that has inflamed, dark skin surrounding it because of the flames.

It had all healed physically, but when he got the power to travel from timeline to timeline that apparently gave him access to the scars he wants to heal and the ones he doesn't, but rather the ones he want to reveal. So he has that one, a few on his back, and some on the centers of his hands and feet, though the Winchester's hadn't noticed those either.

A gruff cough tares him away from the memory, looking up to see the eldest looking at him with mild agitation from not knowing what had happened to him.

_Well, too bad,_ he thought to himself. Those were rather private memories of his, and he wanted to keep it that way. It's not like telling them would benefit him. He had explained and shared to his heart's content the first 100 goes at this, but by now there wasn't really any point in telling them. This timeline would probably not work either, leaving them nonexistent and he with a sore throat from talking to people that no longer existed. Like he said, they're lucky he told them this much.

"Anyways, I'm not here for the share and care you three obviously want. I'm here to help you out, and then I'm gone."

"Help us? I thought you were only doing this to help yourself? To help your universe?" He turned his head to Dean, _I mean really, how dense could they be?_

"Well maybe by helping you, I help myself a little too. Did you ever think of that?" Sam snaps back because hey, he hasn't talked this much sense the timeline when he got his arm chopped up in a meat grinder and had to explain to these three how it magically grew back. Leaving people out of the loop may be the easier way of an approach, but it also ends up the more chatty way when shit goes south.

_Might as well let them grab their bearings on this in case they screw this one up._

"Yeah, so, what is it you guys are looking for again?"

"What?" They all say in unison.

"You know, what you're hunting down right now."

"You're from the future, yet you don't know what we're looking for…" Dean eyes him skeptically, doubt filling his eyes yet again.

"Oh come on. I've been doing this for _years_, skipping through timelines like its hopscotch, all at different times. I can't get a little turned around _once?_" That's apparently a good enough response for John, or at least a convincing one, because he says quietly but confidently, "The thing that took Mary."

"Ohhh, yes! Yellow Eyes."

"Yellow what?"

Now it's Sam's turn to stare at them like they just asked the dumbest question yet, until it dawns on him why they're so confused.

"You haven't seen him yet. Him, her, it, whatever. Wow, that one completely flew over my head. Yellow Eyes is what I call him, Yellow Eyed Demon if we're being technical, and Azazel if we're being crafty for summoning spells," he wiggles his eyebrows at that one, but the others are too busy trying to wrap this new information around their brains.

"So this Yellow Eyed Demon is what killed Mary?"

"Yes. Now, I'm helping you by telling you where he's at so you can gank him."

"You know where he is?" Sammy blurts out.

"Among other things, yes." He then begins to step toward the end table by the door, seeing one of Sammy's notebooks for school sitting on top of it.

All three lunge out at him, unsure where he's headed to. "Woah, calm down. Just going to get some paper to write down the address for you, seeing as how you'll probably forget or screw up a part of it." One of them or maybe all of them take offense to that, Sam doesn't know or really care, so he doesn't say anything as he grabs a pencil lying next to the notebook and opens to a blank page to begin writing.

Once he's finished he tears the page out, setting the pencil back down and hands the page over to John who slowly takes it. After reading it he asks Sam, "Why would he be here?"

"Because he's recruiting, and he needs a base camp for a few days. So he chose there." He stuffs the paper in the breast pocket of his plaid button up shirt and reapplies his hand so that both are on the shotgun yet again, though lowered.

"How are we gonna 'gank' him?" Dean asks. Sam looks over at John and sees slight recognition in his eyes.

"Your daddy already knows. Or, at least, knows what tool to use." Both sons look at John then, silent questions buzzing through their heads, but he doesn't look back at them, instead straight forward at Sam. "The Colt." Sam tilts his head to the right, lifting his eyebrows and twitching his mouth into what could be considered a slight smirk in comparison to his expressionless appearance up until now. "So if you're going in guns blazing, you should probably take this."

He moves his right hand under the flap of his overcoat as his left slightly pulls it back to give him more access to the inside pocket. He whips the piece of metal out quickly, by the handle, pointed straight at John.

Both shotgun and knife go up for the third time that night, or maybe it was technically early morning, he wasn't sure, but he at least deserved it this time.

He moves his hand so that it's still grabbing the handle, but by the butt of it instead of the correct way and quickly tosses it in the air so that he now holds it by the barrel, facing towards himself. Hesitantly John lowers his shotgun, handing it over to Sammy so that he can grasp the gun Sam is oh so charitably offering.

John runs the tips of his fingers over the engravings, studying it like Sammy does a good book.

"Why," is all John asks, but he doesn't need to say more for Sam to understand. "I have my reasons," he says as he quirks just his right eyebrow at him, a skill Sammy hasn't mastered yet but now knows is possible for him to do.

"Now, you don't have to do this. You don't have to go there, and you don't have to use The Colt. I've interfered enough already. This counts as a variable."

He turns towards the windows; it's still dark outside but not as much as before. The sun will be rising soon.

As an afterthought he turns back to them. "But if you _do_ go, do this right. Finish what you start, and _don't_ screw it up. I'm not here to clean up your messes; I've got enough of my own."

All three try to let out refusals to Sam's leaving, but he's already gone faster than they can blink, leaving behind a family of three that feel more out of place than when they went to bed the night before.

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*****Hopefully you all enjoyed this Chapter as well. I decided this would be the one where I would explain all of my Time Travel logic, so I really hope I've explained it well enough for you guys to understand, and not leaving you as confused as the Winchester's were. If you aren't sure, feel free to leave a review with a question. I'm sure it'll be explained later on in the story though, so don't fret. **Make sure to Review, Favorite, and Follow if you like the story so far. I love feedback! :)**


	3. Heartache

**Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or any of the characters. The only things I own are the errors. ^-^  
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Winchester's _hate_ being tied up.

It's not something most human beings enjoy, of course not, it's just the Winchester's dislike it even more. Whenever one, many, or all of them are tied down to whatever objects suits the one doing the tying, notice that they are always restless.

Pick up any random passerby off the street, strap them down, and watch. They're either too in shock to react or trembling in fear; eyes staying focused on the kidnapper.

Now, pick up any Winchester, strap them down, and watch. Always adjusting their wrists to take note of how tight their restraints bind them, eyes darting across the room to create a mental image of all possible escape exits, agitation and full on anger barely swallowed down with the fact that their inevitable escape will lead to slowly and painfully killing said kidnapper.

Azazel's getting that look in full force times three, the utter silence in the spacious area making the pure hatred directed towards him stifling, the Winchester's murderous thoughts almost creating the sound of sharp thunder and image of lightning as they reach out with merely their glares.

As the two younger ones switch between staring at Azazel and his minions, the eldest looks back on what actions they took to land them in such a predicament as this one.

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One would think Sam's disappearance would cause the family to become frantic, loud outbursts of opinionated plans, and arguments. What actually occurred was rather the opposite, all three in silent agreement to oversee the lead they had gained and to not mention who they had gotten it from. Because if one of them had begun to voice their thoughts on the strange guest that had stopped by, it would open a whole new can of worms that none of them had the energy or patience to discuss just yet.

The address would probably end up being a bust, and bringing up Sam would make the acceptance to failure that much harder. They all go busting in doors, guns blazing, only to find the building empty and not filled with the demons that their future brother/son/self told them would be there. Not talking about his presence in a way made it not real, so when they did find the place barren of all life forms they could shake it off as a strange dream they had. Yes, a strange dream all three of them had on the same night with the same details and the same actions. Except, how did they get The Colt?

None of them thought too hard about it, walking into this case just like all the rest, but maybe with a little less concrete evidence and facts, although the same amount of seriousness as they would give any other case.

So imagine their surprise when they finally do make it inside the abandoned warehouse to find it occupied by five black eyed bitches standing guard that they'd been hunting for years now, and one yellow eyed monster calmly pacing back and forth.

The Colt only came with two bullets, so wasting them all was out of the question. If this gun really did what it was rumored it would do, anyways. They were all a bit skeptical at this point. Sam and Dean had been prepared to chant the exorcism in Latin, but once they saw just how many demons there were all the preparation flew out the window. Neither of the boys had done a group exorcism before, weren't even sure it would work on all of them at once, which left John standing there half cocked with a gun he wasn't confident could kill anything supernatural and the boys weak kneed and wide eyed clutching a spell/ritual book in their hands.

Needless to say, they all went down rather quick.

That's not to say they didn't fight anyways, because they did. Punched and kicked and even once bit their way at the low-class demons, but they were outnumbered and unprepared.

They tried to break free of the grip the demons had on them, but none were successful. Yellow Eyes then made his first real indication that he had seen the Winchesters' arrival at all, crossing his arms over his chest and closemouthed as he swiped his tongue across first his top row and then his bottom row of teeth.

"Confine them," were the only words spoken, and the sound echoed throughout the warehouse's thin metal walls and concrete floor before all three were punched into unconsciousness and all went black.

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"What a delightful surprise this is," Yellow Eyes beamed as he stood in front of the three hunters. No one spoke, displeasing the obvious leader slightly.

"This silence really is uncomfortable; it's as if someone _died_." After a pause he mumbled more to himself than the others, though all could hear "Well, Mary did, but that was unaccounted for and deserving."

At that John practically growled, leaving the yellow eyed demon satisfied in rousing up at least one of them.

"Don't you dare talk about my mother, you son of a bitch!" Dean let out.

"That wasn't what I was intending on talking about anyways, so you're in luck." The demon looked down at the ropes that crossed over their chests, wrists, and ankles. "Well, not really." He smirked. He fucking _smirked. _

"Aren't you going to kill us already?" Sammy let out rather weakly, causing the other two tied to jerk their heads in his direction in disbelief.

"Kill you? Heavens no. Kill them? Maybe later. Right now, I have a few questions to ask you three, and I'm going to get answers."

Dean snorted at that, twitching his nose and mouth into a sneer.

"How did you know I would be here?"

Silence.

Yellow Eyes looked at John, his head turned in the direction of probably nothing on the ground simply to look away from the monster in front of him, Dean setting his jaw tighter than the ropes around him as he looked the demon up and down, and Sammy looking reserved as he simply gazed right back at him.

The demon continued on as if the at least full minute of time waiting for a response had only been a mere second. "Because you know what's funny? Even I didn't know I was going to be here until about an hour ago. And although I didn't know your location, I knew it wasn't within the state area, so your travel here must've taken at least 2 hours. And that's putting aside the preparation before coming out here, checking into some motel, and driving to this building specifically. So I'm dying to know, who sent you here? "

All five of his minions had been standing around their leader, facing the Winchesters. At that time Yellow Eyes turned around and reached out, grabbing the dark object one of them had been holding. One of the small squares of broken glass that had been built along the walls of the warehouse allowed the now setting sun's light to shine in, momentarily reflecting off of the metal in the demon's hands.

The Colt.

He walked up to John, bending over slightly to get right in his face. "Where did get this from?"

Still, no answer. He walked over to Dean, brandishing the gun as he yelled "Who did you get this from!?" Losing patience, he jabbed the butt of the gun on the left side of Dean's jaw, forcing his head to the right. Sammy started yelling then, nothing really comprehendible, but yells just the same.

"Tell me! Who gave you this!?"

The ground shook, enough so that it causes the concrete to crack, almost as a divide as it separates Yellow Eyes from the Winchesters. Every small pane of glass immediately shatters, shards landing all around. The big doors of the warehouse literally fall off of their hinges, creating dust to fly around them and the sound of more glass crushing underneath the weight of them.

A figure stands in the doorway, the dust clouds so thick that all you can see is the silhouette of the intruder.

The demon's spine snaps up so quickly that if it weren't possessed it would have surely broken, turning to face whoever dared to face him. "Show yourself!"

The figure did as it was told, stepping onto the doors as it makes its way closer to them. The first thing Dean sees are the black boots as it steps down half an inch, onto the concrete and a rush of déjà vu hits him.

_No fucking way._

Sure enough, the mysterious stranger that walked into their life in less than 24 hours was in front of them yet again.

Sam looked from Yellow Eyes, to the other demons, and then the Winchesters, his face devoid of all emotions.

"I thought I told you not to screw this up?"

"I thought you said you didn't clean up our messes?" Dean throws back with a smirk.

"Yeah, well, I was in the neighborhood," which was a total load of bullshit and everyone knew it.

Yellow Eyes, unlike the Winchesters, was quick on the uptake.

"I can feel your presence… it's oddly similar to Sammy's, yet otherwise totally different. Are you… him?"

"Everyone always says that, but it's actually the other way around. He's me. I am the original Sam Winchester after all."

At that Azazel laughs. Full on, stomach clenching, throaty laughing.

"This is fantastic! I sense you're much stronger than them. I can use you instead."

The Winchester's all look confused, wondering what the demon was referring to with "use," but Sam pays it no mind as he catches the sight of Dean's jaw. Squinting, he moves past Yellow Eyes and gets a closer look at the now forming bruise.

Turning back to him he asks, "Did you do this to Dean?" but the demon is off blabbering to himself about how it all makes sense now, and looks back at Sam.

"So you time traveled? You're from the future? It has to be. I can feel the power practically radiating off of you now."

Obviously ignoring Sam's question, he repeats it more forcefully. "Did you do this to him!?"

Yellow Eyes actually looks confused for a second, as if he's unsure why he would be asking about something so trivial.

"Of course."

At that Sam snarls, his upper lip almost curling and his eyes getting a slightly greener hue to them than before. "Then you must die."

That was clearly not what Azazel expected to come out of his mouth, his eyes widening slightly. The other demons take their stance, ready to pounce on Sam at a moment's notice. He doesn't stay shell-shocked for long though, his mouth beginning to form a grin.

"Now how can you do that, if I have the gun right here?"

Sam's eyes dart over to the five weakly demons, unmoving with the exception of his right hand coming up by his face. His gaze unwavering, he snaps his fingers and all five immediately explode into small red chunks of intestinal track and blood that splatters in the small space they were accompanying. That is, until they fucking _exploded._ Because of a _snap._

Everyone jerks back, staring at the spot the five demons were standing. Azazel recovers quickly, wide yellow eyes looking back at strong green ones. His posture almost instinctively turns submissive, like a mouse caught in the paws of a cat. His hands come up to face palm outwards and he takes a shaky step backward, The Colt dropping from his grasp now that he realizes he has no leverage over him.

"Now, hold on a minute, Sammy."

"It's Sam."

"S-Sam. Let's not get hasty now, we can work together here. Combine forces."

Sam's face contorts, the mere idea of joining alliances with him repulsive.

"Nobody lays a hand on the Winchesters."

Before Azazel has the chance to beg anymore, Sam blinks out just like before, and for a moment Dean fears that he's left them yet again. Instead, he reappears to the left of Azazel, who turns to meet him just in time to feel the hand being thrust through his chest. He stares down at the arm, blood now trickling down it, and raises his head to give Sam one last glance before the arms pulls out just as quickly as it entered. Azazel's body crumples to the floor, slight yellow sparks internally flickering out as the only physical giveaway that the demon is dead. Well, that and the huge gaping hole through its body.

Sam drops the heart from his right hand, moving over to untie the only survivors in this warehouse.

"Holy crap…" Sammy mutters, looking up to Sam as he moves over from John to Dean, John already getting up and rubbing over his wrists.

Once all three are up, they turn around to stare at Sam.

"What?" Sam asks, incredulous.

Nobody moves for a lengthy amount of time, until all three let out half-sighs, half-laughs. Sam and John merely shake their heads, while Dean grumbles out playfully "'In the neighborhood' my ass."

They all laugh lightly at that, though Sam stops abruptly as if he heard something though the only noise to be heard was their laughter.

"We should get going."

"We?" Sammy asks.

Sam turns his head comically to the side, unspoken that he's confused at the question.

Dean elaborates for him. "You mean you're not gonna blink out on us like last time?"

The tension in his face from not understanding disappears fast, but doesn't answer Dean's question. Instead he says "let's go" and begins walking out of the warehouse. All three quickly scramble to follow him, catching up in a few strides.

They don't speak until they settle in the Impala, probably because the brisk pace Sam set for them left little time to stop and ask questions, taking note that Sam is in the driver's seat. John by default takes the passenger, leaving Dean and Sam in the back.

Catching his breath Sammy asks, "And why are we in such a hurry again?"

Sam turns around in his seat to face the boys, squaring his jaw and briefly glances out the back window.

"Because Azazel's death just sent out a shock wave to all other demons on the Earth, leaving the ones on his side extremely pissed off and looking for vengeance."

After a beat he says simply "They're coming to kill you."

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